


such a devotion of the heart

by drunkonwriting



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Jane Austen Fusion, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bucky/Natasha side-pairing, Getting Back Together, Lovers to Exes to Lovers, M/M, Misunderstandings, Mutual Pining, Navy Steve Rogers, POV Tony Stark, persuasion au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-07
Updated: 2021-03-12
Packaged: 2021-03-12 21:00:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,552
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29890470
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/drunkonwriting/pseuds/drunkonwriting
Summary: Persuasion AU. Tony is a disillusioned heir on the outs with his wealthy, spend-thrift father, trying to finish his master's degree so he can work on engineering instead of joining the House of Lords. When he has to return home to prepare his family house to be rented, he doesn’t expect the new tenants to be Bucky Barnes and his new wife - old friends of Tony’s spurned ex-fiancé, Captain Steve Rogers. Tony, still heart-broken over their falling out, has no intention of meeting Captain Rogers again if he can help it. Captain Rogers has other plans.
Relationships: Steve Rogers/Tony Stark
Comments: 15
Kudos: 64





	1. in which lord stark receives a letter

**Author's Note:**

> this was originally going to be a project for the stony bigbang, but in the end i never got it off the ground enough to meet the deadline. that said, i'm three chapters deep and all outlined, so hopefully i will be able to keep it going.
> 
> this is a persuasion au! persuasion is my favorite austen novel because there is no trope i love more than exes reuniting. some of this plot will follow persuasion, but some of it will shift. i've done my best to keep things historically accurate but doubtless there will be inaccuracies littered throughout - my research has been haphazard at best and i'm more than willing to throw historical inaccuracies out of the window if it means more fun writing.
> 
> title is taken from persuasion:
> 
> "A man does not recover from **such a devotion of the heart** to such a woman! He ought not; he does not."

The letter was waiting for Tony at his door when he arrived at his apartment, several of the heavy books he’d borrowed from the library tucked under one arm, sheaves of drawing paper under his other. He paused on the threshold of the stairs, eyeing the little envelope with no small trepidation. The paper was already finer than Tony had seen in about six years, which was enough to set alarm bells ringing. But it was really the brilliant red ostentatious griffin seal that made his heart drop all the way to his toes. He’d grown up seeing that seal on cutlery, tapestries, and every bit of available flat space which could hold it. 

His father had written.

Tony scooped the letter up with his free hand. His landlord had doubtlessly left it there for him—he rarely got mail, other than the odd letter from Rhodey or Obie, and so fine an envelope had probably flummoxed the poor woman. Tony dumped his papers and books on his bed and sank into the rickety chair at his desk, letter still in hand. The front only had his name and address in the spidery scrawl Tony immediately recognized as his godfather’s awful penmanship—no return address, though Tony supposed he didn’t need one. His father had occupied the same townhouse in London for most of Tony’s life.

Tony didn’t want to open the letter. His father hadn’t sent any since he’d started attending Cambridge five years ago after his mother’s death. His father had been unconvinced of the merits of attending university at all, but Tony had roped Obie to his side, having him cite all the noble sons who were attending and making contacts and friendships with other noble sons. Tony had kept his mouth shut on that front. Obie was his father’s oldest friend and the best negotiator Tony had ever met; he was the only one who could ever really get through to Howard other than Tony’s mother. Besides, it didn’t matter if his father thought that Tony was only going to Cambridge as a stepping stone on his way to the House of Lords and what Howard considered Tony’s future, not if it meant Tony could actually learn from something other than outdated books and his own imagination. He’d had other reasons to want to get out of the Manor, but his father also hadn’t needed or wanted to know about them. 

Obie had managed to convince Howard of the merits just barely. Perhaps his father would have sent letter after letter heckling Tony to return, reminding Tony of his proper future, if Tony’s mother hadn’t died from a sudden illness only six months after he’d left home.

Tony had returned for the funeral, of course. He had half-expected his father to demand for him to stay. But his father had been wan and silent, utterly at sea. He hadn’t even seemed to recognize Tony. He didn't said a single thing when Tony left only a week later, and he hadn’t sent any letters even though Tony had graduated his course nearly two years ago and had decided to stay on for his master’s with only a note to Obie to let anyone know what he was doing.

Tony had wondered if his father had just forgotten he’d had a son. It had certainly felt like that during Tony’s childhood, when his parents were in London more often than not, with Tony left behind in the country house. It was only when Tony turned sixteen that his father had begun to pay him any attention, and considering how that had all turned out, Tony had been almost relieved to have lost it again. 

But now there was a letter.

Perhaps this was finally it; the writ that would see Tony tugged home by the leash, however long it was, that Howard always had around his neck. Tony’s hand tightened on the letter, wrinkling the fine paper. He would be forced to sit among peers of nobility and listen to their thoughtless droning about laws and subjects that bored him to tears. He would be forced to abandon everything he’d worked so hard on here, forced to leave his projects unfinished. Tony ground his teeth. Gods be good, he thought. It was a nightmare.

He opened the letter with a savage rip, uncaring of what damage he might do. It was a thin missive, only a single sheet of paper that wasn’t even fully filled. Tony took a deep, stabilizing breath and began to read. At first, he almost thought he had been mistaken about who had sent it—his father’s normally tidy, strong hand, familiar to Tony from the sparse letters of his childhood, was faint and so shaky as to be almost illegible. The contents themselves were no less disturbing, so much so that Tony had to read the letter over and over again to be absolutely sure of its meaning. It read:

_My son,_

_I will waste no time on pleasantries, as you know I find them useless. It is time for you to return home. I have allowed this fanciful pursuit of yours to continue on for much too long and it is high time to put an end to it. Lent Term is up in less than a month and I expect you to return to Stark Manor soon afterwards in order to see to a bit of unpleasant business in my stead. It seems that due to various expenses I cannot possibly hope to expunge, Stark Manor must be let out. I have placed the duty of finding suitable tenants for our ancestral home in the hands of our lawyer, the capable Mr. Coulson. He has assured me it will take him no time to find someone who will match our home’s exceedingly proud history and beauty. Your duty, therefore, is to oversee that transfer and to convey our goodbyes and regrets to our tenants. I am sure they will not miss us overmuch, as the manor has stood empty for so many years, but it is our responsibility to do so. I am tied up in London and cannot hope to make it out. Once these duties have been attended to, I expect your presence in London, where you will at last take your proper place as my heir and the future Earl._

_Sincerely,  
_ _Lord Howard Stark  
_ _Earl of Somerset_

Tony read the letter five times before the meaning of it truly sank in. He set it down on his messy desk and stared at his wall without really seeing it. That, he acknowledged, was not at all the summons he had expected when he’d found the letter on his doorstep. Not even close. 

The terse order for Tony to come to London hadn’t been a surprise. Tony had been waiting for that for years. No, what utterly flummoxed Tony was this business of letting out Stark Manor.

The Manor had been the seat of the Starks since their founding, a sprawling mansion out in the country of Somerset. For as long as Tony could remember, Howard had been immensely proud of the place. The rare times he and Tony’s mother had returned during Tony’s childhood had been in a group of other peers of the realm or even gentry, to whom Howard would spend the entire trip extolling the virtues and history of the Stark line and the family home. Tony would believe in Howard giving up his title before he believed in Howard giving up that mansion. 

He looked at the letter again, deeply troubled by the mention of those _various expenses_. His family’s wealth was deep and varied—it would take enormous spending to put such a dent in it that lending out the house was necessary. Tony avoided the society papers, but now he wished that he’d kept a closer eye on his father’s activities during the last six years. But surely if something was amiss with Howard, Obie would have written to tell him so? Even though Tony had always had an uneasy and distant relationship with his father, the same was not true of his godfather—Obie still regularly sent letters and inquiries about Tony’s studies. 

The entire thing was disturbing. Tony wished, more than anything, that he could wash his hands of the whole affair and go back to his studies. But his father’s money was what paid for Tony’s school bills and his apartment. Perhaps, if his father pulled his support, Tony could still pay his way through selling his inventions, but that was hardly a guarantee. Tony began to chew on his fingernail, mind racing. No, the only way was to go along with what his father was asking of him. He wouldn’t officially leave the university, but ask for a term’s leave of absence—if he was lucky, he could convince Howard to let him stay on until he finished his master’s and return before the Michaelmas Term without having too much to catch up on. After that… Tony sighed, taking his fingernail out of his mouth.

After that, he had no idea what he was going to do.

He glanced at the letter again, stomach rolling. He had little desire to return to Stark Manor, which had once been his kingdom and was now only a source of unpleasant and painful memories. But if he didn’t do as his father asked, he was much less likely to allow Tony to stay at Cambridge. There was nothing for it—he’d have to return for the first time in six years.

Tony barked out a laugh and stood up. Better start getting packed, he thought.

* * *

Stark Manor had not changed in six years.

When he was a child, Tony had thought there was no grander place in all the world. The manor had been his own personal kingdom, a never-ending playground. He’d known every nook and cranny of it and the surrounding grounds, the bustling town down the river, the thick, dreamy woods that separated their property from Baronet Fury, their closest neighbor. He’d known every tree stump and field and cow. While his parents preferred the London townhouse, Tony had loved Stark Manor with all of his heart. 

As the carriage bumped down the main road to the house, Tony closed his eyes. For a moment, he felt like he was nineteen again, burning with so much grief and rage it felt like he would implode from within. Then he opened his eyes and he was himself again, a man grown, settled into his life and his skin. Tony let out a long breath and resolved silently to conclude this business with the house as quickly as possible. He didn’t like the memories it stirred up.

The carriage came to a stop. Tony ducked out before the driver could get the door, freezing when he realized the entire household had gathered to greet him. They were, all of them, entirely new to him except—

“Master Tony.”

Tony couldn’t help but smile. “Jarvis,” he said.

The old butler inclined his head. Jarvis had been the Manor’s butler since before Tony was born. With his parents away, Jarvis had also been the one cleaning up after Tony, scolding him, and playing with him. In many ways, he was something of a father to Tony, or least a beloved uncle. Still, he despised long distance travel and found letters boring—Tony hadn’t heard from him since he left home. He was startled to see streaks of white in Jarvis’s gray hair and more lines around his eyes. 

“You’ve finally returned to us,” Jarvis said. 

Jarvis had never been particularly demonstrative, always solemn and reserved, but Tony could see the warmth in his eyes and the small crease to his lips that was his particular form of a smile. Tony smiled back, some of the tension leaving his back. Stark Manor had so many unpleasant memories that he’d almost forgotten that it had good ones, too.

“Not for long,” Tony said. “Howard wants me in London.”

Jarvis’s brow crinkled. “Your father wrote you?”

Tony glanced over his shoulder at the line of waiting servants. “Later,” he said. “For now, introduce me.”

Jarvis inclined his head. “Two housemaids, our cook, and our housekeeper,” he said. “I’m afraid we can’t keep any more considering the house has stood empty for so many years.”

Tony made a mental note to look into hiring more servants. Stark Manor was large—depending on the tenants, they could probably use a full household. He inclined his head to the ones standing by the door; two young women, a scruffy man, and an elderly woman who had to be the housekeeper. 

“Pleasure to meet you all,” he said, adding in a wink and delighting in the way it made both of the young ladies blush. “I promise I won’t get in your way _too_ much.”

Jarvis cleared his throat. “As you were,” he told the servants and they dispersed with some covert glancing. Tony sent an amused side-eye toward Jarvis.

“Still don’t like it when I’m nice to the servants, J?” he asked.

“Politeness towards staff is a sign of good character,” Jarvis said. “But you are not simply polite, Master Stark—you are _familiar_. _”_

Tony shrugged. “The only difference between us is the luck of birth,” he said. “There’s no point in pretending otherwise.”

Jarvis’s sigh was deep and long-suffering. Tony was surprised at how nostalgic it made him feel. “I find that university has not given you any respect for propriety, Master Stark.”

“There weren’t any professors there up to the task.”

“Yet, last I heard you had planned to spend another year at Cambridge.”

Tony cut him a look. “Last you heard? Heard from _where_? Rhodey?”

“Master Rhodes has been in London for some time now, as you well know.”

“Working with the military, I know,” Tony said. “But I don’t write to anyone else from around here. _How_ —?”

“I have my ways,” Jarvis said. He met Tony’s eyes. “This isn’t just a visit, is it, Master Stark?”

Tony sighed. “No,” he said. “No, I’m afraid it isn’t.”

* * *

The long explanation to Jarvis had been unpleasant, but they had worked things out between them. Jarvis would make inquiries in town about additional staff that afternoon and Tony, well—Tony walked the house.

Much of the manor was already sealed up, white sheets out and all the furniture put aside. The servants' main job was to keep the place up and be prepared in case Earl Stark decided to make a visit. Tony wondered how they'd occupied their time otherwise these past several years. He knew his father had not visited this house either since his mother's death.

Tony had made his way to his old bedroom first.

It had been made up, fresh sheets on the bed and all the furniture uncovered. Tony hovered in the doorway, stomach twisting. It was as if he’d never even been away—there were still torn-out book pages tacked to the wall, hasty underlines scratched under the interesting bits. The mangled stuffed griffin Jarvis had given for him on his fifth birthday sat on the trunk at the foot of the bed. All of his books were lined up on their shelves. Tony had never used a filing system for his books, always ordering them by how interested he was in them at any given time. Tony smiled a little. His friends had always hated that, especially—

Tony turned away from the room with a gasp. He pressed his hand against his chest, forcing himself to take deep breaths. 

He’d avoided those thoughts for six years, he reminded himself. Every time he’d seen his name in the newspaper, he’d put it aside immediately. Every time he’d had a thought or a memory of their time together, he’d found something to distract himself. He’d put it behind him as entirely as he was able. For Tony's brain, which caught ideas and ran them into submission, it was an impressive amount of self-control.

And yet, how was it, Tony thought a little hopelessly, a name still had so much power over him after six years? How was it just the mere thought could be enough to reduce him to this quivering wreck? How long would it take for Tony to face his memory with indifference? 

“Lord Stark?”

Tony jumped. The short, unassuming man approaching him down the hallway was utterly unknown to him. He took in the unfashionably clipped hair and the plain, patched clothes. 

“Mr. Coulson,” he said, making an educated guess. He offered his hand, which Coulson took. His eyebrows rose and Tony belatedly remembered he wasn’t wearing gloves—Coulson could probably feel the calluses on his palms. Tony had gotten out of the habit of trying to hide them. “Jarvis said you had business in town?”

“A potential tenant,” Coulson said. “He was very interested in the place when we spoke yesterday. Tomorrow he will give his final offer and you may accept or decline as you see fit.”

Tony’s throat tightened. He’d wanted to be in and out as quickly as possible, to leave Stark Manor and all its unpleasant associations behind him, but it still profoundly unsettled him that his childhood and life could be so easily swept aside and replaced. It would be all too easy to settle the new tenants in the manor by tomorrow, even, and they would use the manor as their own. Tony’s whole life had belonged to this place and all of that would just be—forgotten. Tony bit the inside of his cheek. 

That was what he wanted, wasn’t it? To forget?

“What kind of fellow is he, this tenant?”

“A newly married man, my lord,” Coulson said. “A lieutenant in the Navy.”

Even the thought of the Navy was enough to send a pang of hurt through Tony’s belly. Gods, could he never be free, even during idle conversations? 

“A lieutenant? Shouldn't he be sailing the high seas, protecting our borders from degenerate Frenchmen?”

“The war is over now, my lord,” Coulson said, not even a hint of irony in his voice to show that he'd registered Tony's joke. “What’s more, the lieutenant was badly injured during the final skirmishes. It seems that he is, at least unofficially, retired from service until he recovers.”

Another man sent home missing parts of himself. Tony hated the thought of it and softened a little toward this stranger.

“I see. And his wife?”

“The reason he has an offer at all. The daughter of a spice trader, whose dowry has given him great wealth and deep pockets.”

His father would be horrified, Tony thought. A lowly Navy man, not even an Admiral, and the daughter of a tradesman, no matter how wealthy? He’d go out of his mind to know such people lived in the ancestral home of the Starks. Tony smiled at the thought of it. Well, if his father couldn’t be bothered to come out to the manor to oversee this himself, he deserved what he got. And there were worse people to hand over his childhood home to.

“If their offer is good, accept them,” he said. 

Coulson’s eyebrows rose further. “You seem very certain,” he said.

Tony patted Coulson cheerfully on the shoulder as he passed him to continue his inspection. “Let’s just say I’ve got a good feeling.”

* * *

Pepper’s little cottage was just as he remembered it, though it had still been her father’s when he’d last seen it in person. It was hardly as big as the great hall of the manor, but its white-washed exterior and pale roof were so tidy and lovely that it seemed altogether more elegant. Pepper’s father had enjoyed gardening, and Tony was pleased to see she’d kept up the vegetables he’d tended, as well as the bunches of roses, lilies, and tulips he’d kept near the front door. He stooped and plucked one of the bright red tulips.

For several long seconds, he could only stand in front of the door. He’d made the decision to come down here at the last minute late last night as he’d stared at the ceiling in his old childhood bedroom. Coulson was supposed to hear back from the potential tenants that afternoon—if it went well, Tony would likely be out of the manor before the week’s end, on his way to London. If he wanted to speak to Pepper, to finally clear the air between them, there was no better time. It had been years, he’d reminded himself as he’d come down from the main house. Pepper surely couldn’t still be that angry with him.

And yet, he still hesitated. The last time he’d seen her, they’d been screaming at each other. She’d thrown several books at his head. There was no guarantee the same wouldn’t happen again. Or, even worse, she might cry again. Tony couldn't stand to see Pepper cry.

But it would be worse to have come and gone without even trying to speak to her. He took a deep breath and knocked on the door.

It took several long moments before he heard footsteps. Tony used them to compose himself, to fix his face into something appropriate. If Pepper didn’t want to see him, he’d leave. He’d used her very badly and he was the one at fault for their falling out—all he wanted to do was apologize. If he was lucky, she might consider being his friend again.

The door opened. Tony held up the flower in Pepper’s startled face.

“Before you start yelling, I’m sorry,” he said rapidly. Her face was going blotchy already, not a good sign. “I know I was an ass the last time we were together and I should have written you much sooner to apologize. I thought it was something I should do in person. You were right to hit me and,” he glanced down and his entire speech, the one he’d been working on the whole ride over, fell straight out of his head, “holy mother of God, you’re _pregnant_.”

Pepper crossed her arms over her chest. Her face was approaching red now, a sure sign of temper. Tony would be warier if he wasn’t utterly distracted by her _enormous stomach_. 

“As it happens, I am,” she said. “What of it?”

“What—?” He gaped at her. “I know we didn’t part the best of friends, but surely you could have mentioned you were with child! Damn Rhodey, why didn’t he say anything?”

“I asked him not to.”

“ _You_ asked him not—” Tony stopped. His heart squeezed and he felt like the smallest man alive. “You really hate me that much?” he asked quietly. 

Pepper’s face tightened. “Hate you? God, Tony, I _wish_ I could hate you!”

“You didn’t want me to know you were going to have a baby, Pepper, what am I supposed to think?”

Pepper glared at him. “I didn’t want you to know,” she said, enunciating each word precisely, “because the moment you found out, I knew you’d come rushing over here to coddle me like a baby bird.”

“I don’t _coddle_ people,” Tony said. 

“Oh? What about when Rhodey broke his leg? Or when Jarvis had the terrible flu? Or what about—” 

She stopped. Tony’s heart beat hard against his ribs. He knew who she was going to mention, the next name she’d bring up. If there was anyone Tony could be accused of coddling, it was _him_. Tony was grateful even Pepper’s wrath didn’t make her cruel enough to actually say the name out loud. But then, she’d seen the aftermath of that whole terrible debacle, had to live with its consequences as surely as Tony had. She knew, like Rhodey did, exactly what Tony had lost. 

“That was a justifiable concern,” Tony said, loud to cover up the awkward silence. “I am _justifiably concerned_ about people.”

“Well, you don’t need to be justifiably concerned about me. Women have been doing this for a long, long time and I’ve made it five months on my own, so—”

“On your own? What happened to your husband?”

Pepper’s expression flickered. “Rhodey didn’t tell you?”

“Rhodey didn’t even like telling me you got married,” Tony said. “What? He's not here? Where the hell did he go?"

“Aldritch died, Tony,” Pepper said. “He died last year. Just before the war ended.”

Tony blinked at her. He had only met Pepper’s husband once, just after his mother’s funeral. He was a local man, a bit of a dreamer, with an eye toward enterprise that his frail body couldn’t match. Tony hadn’t liked him, though it had little to do with his designs on Pepper—he’d had a conniving, greedy attitude that had made Tony’s hackles raise. He hadn’t been happy when Rhodey had reported Pepper’s courtship and eventual marriage, but considering their falling out, Tony hadn’t felt he had the right to intervene. The last he’d heard was that they had moved into Pepper’s father’s cottage and Killian had been recruited into the army.

“God, Pep,” he said. “You’ve been holding out on your own all this time? Doesn't he have any family to help?"

Pepper's own family was long gone, of course; her mother had died when she was a child and it had only been her father and her for years.

“None to speak of,” Pepper said. “His parents are long dead and he has no siblings or cousins. Not that they would have helped me if he did. Things were not—well between us, those last few months. Finding out I was pregnant after his last visit was something of a mixed blessing.”

Tony wanted to ask what exactly _not well_ meant, but the look in Pepper's eye warned him against it. Instead, he turned his attention back to her stomach. Pepper had always been a slight woman--her pregnant belly made her look like she'd swallowed several watermelons.

“When are you due?”

“By the end of the month, if all goes well.”

Tony stared at her. “Rhodey wouldn’t have left you like this,” he said.

“Rhodey still doesn’t know either,” she said. Her face puckered at whatever she saw on Tony’s. “ _Don’t_! I’m not a child, Tony. I can take care of myself and this baby. I don’t need you or Rhodey to swoop in and save me.”

“Not _save_ you!” Tony protested. “Help you!”

“Call it what you want, it amounts to the same thing,” she said. “What are you even _doing_ here? I thought you said you’d never come back.”

Awkward silence fell between them at the memory of their last conversation. Tony shuffled on his feet and thrust the flower at her again. This time, she took it, though she rolled her eyes a little as she did.

“Howard sent me a letter,” he said. “He’s lending out the manor. I’m to oversee the new tenant and then make a leg for London straightaway.”

Pepper’s mouth firmed. “London? But—”

“I’m to take my proper place as a peer of the realm,” Tony said with no little bitterness. He shook his head. “Look, Pepper. I wanted to say that I’m—I’m sorry about what happened last time. It was awful of me and I shouldn’t have said any of it. I was just—” Tony shook his head again. He couldn’t even begin to voice how he’d felt then. “I’m sorry.”

Pepper softened. “I said some pretty terrible things myself,” she said. “And I could have chosen a better time.”

Pepper had always been the kindest of all of them. Tony's relief almost overwhelmed him. He smiled at her until his cheeks ached.

“Is that forgiveness I hear?”

Pepper tucked the tulip in the pocket of her dress. She examined him from head to toe, then exhaled, shaking her head a little ruefully.

“Yes, Tony," she said. "I forgive you.”

“Good. Now can I come in so we can talk about how _exactly_ you plan to deal with this newborn baby entirely on your own?”

Pepper groaned, but she stepped aside. Tony would count that as a win.

* * *

Tony was in a good mood when he returned to the manor late that afternoon. Pepper had served some of her tea—the only thing Tony had ever known her to be as picky about as her ribbons—and they’d chatted with increasing intimacy for most of the afternoon. Pepper filled him in on her life and some of the gossip from the main houses, which was how Tony had learned that Fury’s wards had come to stay with him last month and there were some alarming burglaries happening on the road to the town by the river.

“No one’s been hurt so far,” Pepper had said. “But a lot of the travelers going through town are being accosted. The shop owners are starting to worry that the thieves will turn their eyes on the town next.”

Tony had stored it away as something to look at. He didn’t remember there being a thief problem when he was a boy, but the river town had grown significantly in the past several years according to Pepper. He’d have to talk to Obie about it. Perhaps they could get some men stationed on the road to ward them off, or at least have someone in town to keep an eye on the shops. The new tenant might even have some ideas if he was a military man.

Mr. Coulson was waiting for Tony in the foyer when he arrived back at the manor. He was as solemn as Jarvis, but there was a bit of a smile playing around his mouth. 

“Good news, Mr. Coulson?” Tony asked as he shed his cravat and gloves at the door. 

“I think you’ll be pleased, Lord Stark,” Coulson said. “The lieutenant’s offer was more than fair. I’ve accepted on your behalf. If everything goes well, they’ll be arriving to move in the day after tomorrow.”

Tony’s stomach did something strange. A leap or a drop, some swooping motion that made him quite nauseous.

“So soon,” he murmured to himself. 

“They seemed eager for a change,” Mr. Coulson said. “The rooms they are renting now are apparently not up to the lady’s standards.”

Tony smiled a little. This was why he was here, he reminded himself. And the sooner he got this little piece of business squared away, the sooner he could convince Howard to let him return to Cambridge.

“Of course they’re welcome. I’ll spend tomorrow saying our farewells to the tenants and be packed by the next morning.”

Coulson’s eyebrows went up. “Surely you’ll at least stay for dinner!” he said. “They are aware that they are displacing you, Lord Stark. They seemed most eager to meet your acquaintance.”

“No, no, I wouldn't want to step on their toes. They should feel that the manor is their home, not that they're the interlopers. Besides, I have business with my father in London.”

“I see,” Coulson said. It was difficult to tell with his stern face, but he seemed disappointed. “I’ll convey your regards, then.”

“You do that,” Tony said. He began to make his way for the stairs, then paused. “You know, I don't think you ever told me their name. The couple, I mean."

“Oh!” Coulson smiled a little. “Beg my pardon, my lord. The family name is Barnes, I believe. Lieutenant Barnes and his wife Natasha.”

Tony’s stomach began to do a freefall. As if from the end of a very long tunnel, he heard himself ask. “ _James_ Barnes?”

Coulson frowned. “I believe his given name is James, yes. How did you know?”

Tony didn’t answer. He was already running up the stairs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> next chapter is written and needs to be edited, so i'll hopefully get it up sooner rather than later. in the meantime, comments & kudos are always welcome.


	2. in which lord stark comes to a decision

Tony didn’t remember making it to his room—one second he was on the stairs, hearing the name James Barnes for the first time in six years and the next he was sinking onto his bed, struggling to breathe. He gasped on every inhale, chest tightening to the point of pain. His mind was white noise, full of everything and nothing, pulsating with panic. 

“Lord Stark? Mr. Coulson said—Lord Stark!”

A firm hand forced his head between his knees. The sudden change in equilibrium made him to gasp and suddenly air could find its way through his lungs again. For several long moments, all he could do was focus on the weave of the carpet below his feet and breathe in and out; too fast at first, and then more steadily. The hand between his shoulder blades didn’t move and its warmth and steadiness allowed Tony to focus his thoughts into something other than the a hurricane of emotion.

“Let me up,” he said when he felt something approaching normal again.

The hand patted his back once and then withdrew. Tony felt twenty years older than he actually was as he straightened and looked into Jarvis’s placid face. The sheer stoicism of his expression was almost enough to make Tony smile despite the ache in his gut and the beginning of a headache behind his eyes. Jarvis never had known how to respond to Tony’s emotional outbursts—every time Tony remembered crying as a child, it had been accompanied by Jarvis’s warm hands and utter solemnity.

“Mr. Coulson said you seemed upset,” Jarvis said.

Tony did not want to talk about this. He stood, shaking his hands and turning away from Jarvis' keen eyes.

“Me? Upset? Why would you think such a thing?”

Jarvis’s mouth firmed. “Lord Stark.”

Tony sighed. He circled his room several times, trying to force himself to say it. Jarvis let him without speaking; he knew that sometimes Tony had to work himself up to things he found unpleasant, and he found nothing more unpleasant than discussing his _feelings_. Finally, he came to a stop in front of Jarvis, though he kept his eyes focused on the floor.

“It’s stupid,” he said. It was easier to admit that to himself now that the shock had passed, now that he could think clearly again. “It’s just—the new tenants. Turns out they’re not strangers after all.”

“Oh?”

“Yes. The lieutenant, he used to live nearby.” Tony forced his voice to stay even. “You remember Bucky Barnes, don’t you?”

Jarvis’s sharp inhale was as good as a swear. Tony looked down at his hands.

“Mr. Barnes,” Jarvis said after a long moment. “I haven’t heard much about him since he went into the Navy.”

“Turns out he went and got himself married,” Tony said. “To a spice trader heiress, no less.” He snorted, allowing himself a little humor. He could remember Bucky always talking about his rich future wife. Prophecy fulfilled. “He would. He was always the pretty one.”

“I suppose I can understand him wanting to return home,” Jarvis said. 

Tony didn’t look up. “You know what this means, J,” he said. “You know those two—” He cleared his throat. “Those two were never apart for long. If Bucky’s coming, then—”

“Yes.” Jarvis’s voice was impossibly gentle. “Then I imagine Mr. Rogers will be coming as well.”

Tony closed his eyes. It had been years since he’d heard that name. It was only in his darkest, loneliest moments that he even allowed himself to think about it, and even then it was always brief. It had to be. Tony could hardly bear the weight of it for any length of time.

“Captain now, J,” Tony forced himself to say as casually as he could. “They both did well for themselves in the war. It’s a wonder—" God this hurt, why did this hurt so much? "A wonder he’s not married already as well.”

The sheer idea made Tony’s chest throb, his stomach tightening into such a knot that he almost felt sick. He clenched his hands into fists, reveling in the harsh bite of his fingernails into his palm, the pulled skin of his knuckles. He needed to get a grip. It had been six years, hadn't it? He should be over it, shouldn’t he?

Shouldn’t he?

Tony turned to the door. “Mr. Coulson said they’ll be moving in the day after tomorrow. Better get a move on, lots to do.”

“Lord Stark—”

“We’ll have to rearrange some of the rooms, take off all the sheets in the master bedroom. I don’t suppose you managed to find any new servants yet, J?”

“A few young people were interested, yes, but—”

“Excellent. I’ll do interviews tomorrow then, get everything settled. With any luck, they’ll have a whole household to welcome them when they arrive.”

“Lord Stark!”

Tony paused in the doorway. When he looked back, Jarvis was watching him, implacable and focused. 

“What?”

Jarvis paused, obviously thinking over his words. “With Mr. Barnes living here, it is almost a surety that Mr.—excuse me, _Captain_ Rogers will come visit.”

“Yes?” Tony was sure his flinch at the name hadn’t been obvious. Not that it would need to be under Jarvis' knowing stare. “And?”

“You and Captain Rogers—”

“Jarvis.”

Jarvis’s expression firmed. “You and Captain Rogers were once very close, Lord Stark.”

Jarvis could win awards in understatements.

“Well, I was close with every child my age within a ten mile radius of the house,” Tony said, hoping he sounded more casual than he felt.

Jarvis’s hard look said he was not fooled. “You were very close,” he said again, more meaningfully. “And while I have never been sure of the details, I am aware that you had a—falling out, of sorts, before he left to fulfill his post with the Navy."

Falling out? Could something that had ruined Tony so grievously, had left him shattered so completely, be summed up in such flimsy words? Tony almost laughed at the thought. But Jarvis, like everyone else, was not privy to the details. No one knew them entirely outside of Tony and Captain Rogers himself and Tony was determined it would stay that way. His pain was his own, not to be shared or gawked at or whispered about, even amongst the people he considered his friends.

“If you have a point, I’d get to it.” Tony kept his voice light and charming, but he knew Jarvis could hear the warning underneath. Jarvis was the one who had taught him how to speak like that, after all. "I've got things to do."

“When he comes to visit, will you be all right?”

Tony almost laughed. Would he be _all right_? 

“I’ll survive,” he said and flounced out.

* * *

The house was in a flurry of activity as the servants realized they would have some actual tenants for the first time in six years. There was a rush of dusting and mopping and shopping for foodstuffs. Tony organized the setting up of the master bedroom and ignored the pang of nostalgia he felt when his parents' wide, four-poster bed was revealed. He remembered playing hide-and-seek under that bed, jumping on it with his playmates, sleeping in it when the weather turned bad and storms raged through the countryside. Memories seemed to be everywhere in this house—Tony could hardly turn around without running into one.

That evening, he distracted himself with work. His professors had all but cried at hearing he was taking a semester off, but Tony had no intention of falling behind on his studies or his projects. He’d taken as many books and papers as he could pack, as well as the current drafts of his latest invention. Being able to pull it out and sink into the focus of designing machinery was a blessing after the past few days. By the time he realized the candle had almost burned itself out, Tony had managed to put aside the little voice whispering in the back of his ear about Barnes and Steve Rogers.

* * *

Tony dreamed—

_Steve was impossibly tall in his new uniform, boots shined and buttoned up to the throat, cravat pulled tight. He looked every inch the respectable soldier._

_“Well, well,” Tony drawled. “Suddenly I’ve got an urge to start saluting and calling you sir.”_

_Steve’s blush still turned his ears bright red, to Tony’s delight. Even if he was so much taller now, he still acted like the scrawny boy who followed Tony around and picked fights with the town kids when they were being mean._

_"Tony," he said reproachfully, though his eyes twinkled. "I'm an officer in Her Majesty's Navy now. You've got to start treating me with a little more respect."_

_"Does Her Majesty's Navy know you've tried dunking me in the river out behind the woods more times than I can count on two hands?"_

_Steve laughed and all signs of respectability fell away as he reached forward and tugged Tony into a tight hug. Tony had always been taller than Steve when they were young, but now he could fit his head comfortably against Steve's shoulder. He smelled the same, though and Tony relaxed against him, relieved to finally be able to see him again. It had been years since they'd done more than exchange letters._

_"How long are you back for?" he asked against Steve's shoulder._

_"A few months," Steve said. "Admiral Phillips gave me some leave before I take up my position."_

_"Really?" Tony pulled away, looking up into Steve's face again. He really had grown up handsome. Tony had always known he would, of course, but it was still a shock to be able to see it in person. "Why would he do that?"_

_Steve's face flushed. "I told him I needed a few months to--finish up some personal business," he said. He shifted from foot to foot. "Since the ship I'm assigned to isn't leaving until September, I have time and he granted my request."_

_Odd. Tony eyed Steve's flushed cheeks and shifty eyes, but Steve didn't add anything else. Tony almost asked, insatiably curious about this so-called "personal business" that Steve supposedly had, but he was distracted by a knock on the door._

_"Tony," Howard called. "You at least need to put in an appearance."_

_Tony made a face and stepped away from Steve, opening the door to reveal his father in his formal clothes, tugging impatiently on his sleeve. Howard's face wrinkled with displeasure when he saw Steve over Tony's shoulder and Tony fought to keep his face neutral._

_"I'll be right down," he said. "Steve--" At his father's look, he swallowed and amended, "Mr. Rogers only just arrived. I wanted to catch up with him."_

_Howard's eyes narrowed. "You have duties, Tony," he said. "Don't forget that."_

_Tony swallowed. He knew what his father really meant but he could hardly start yet another fight with Steve standing right behind him, listening in curiously. He just nodded, hating that he had to agree._

_"Of course," he said and Howard gave him another look, clearly not believing him._

_"Ten minutes," was all he said before leaving, heading back to the party downstairs._

_"I can go," Steve said immediately when Tony closed the door. His brow was wrinkled with concern. "I knew you were having a party but I just wanted to--" He cleared his throat. "Can I call on you tomorrow?"_

_"Of course," Tony said. He wanted to be annoyed, but instead he felt a little sick. He hated his father's little reminders. "I'd love to see you."_

_Steve went pink at that. "I'm glad I got to come back and visit," he said, smiling a little. "It's been such a long time, Tones. I almost forgot what you looked like."_

_Tony laughed. "The last time you saw me I was eleven." He jutted out a hip and batted his eyes, grinning. "What do you think? Do I measure up to the last time you saw me?"_

_He was expecting a laugh, a joke. Not for Steve's eyes to darken and make a slow sweep of Tony's body. Tony began to flush under that close attention, his mouth going dry. Steve reached Tony's face and he smiled. There was something odd about it, almost intense. Tony could feel the beat of his heart in his throat._

_"You measure up just fine, Tones," Steve said. "Better than I dreamed."_

_Tony knew he was blushing. It helped that Steve was too. He cleared his throat._

_"Well, that's. Good." His voice sounded mostly normal, at least. "I'll, uh. I'd better get to the party."_

_"Of course." Steve reached out and clapped him on the shoulder. His big hand was warm even through Tony's jacket. "I'll see you tomorrow, okay?"_

* * *

The next morning, Tony rose early and out of sorts. He’d been besieged by dreams, half-remembered memories that made him irritable and melancholy. The thought of breakfast on his own only worsened his bad mood and he made a last-minute decision to visit Pepper again. She was always the best at getting him out of his bad tempers. 

He made the short walk down to Pepper’s cottage, trying to think about the knotty problem in his latest project and not the wisps of dreams that had followed him to the waking hour. Still lost in his own thoughts, it took him a moment to realize that it was taking an uncommonly long time for Pepper to open her door. Tony frowned and peered through the front window—he could see the light of a candle inside. Was Pepper ignoring him?

“Pepper?”

He knocked again. His concern worsened when he heard a thump from inside and a pained noise. He opened the door before he could stop to think why it might be a bad idea, rushing into the house. There was a single candle lit on the dining room table, with dishes half laid out. Tony frowned at them—it looked as if Pepper had stopped in the middle of preparing for her own breakfast. Another thump sent him to the back rooms of the house.

“Pepper!”

Pepper lay on the floor of her bedroom, still in her night shift. She was breathing heavily, eyes screwed tight as she grimaced. Tony reached for her clenched hands, taking them tightly in her own.

“What’s wrong?” he asked. “What’s happened, are you all right?”

“Baby,” Pepper managed to say through her teeth. 

“The baby?” Tony looked down and stiffened when he realized Pepper’s nightgown had blood seeping through it between her thighs. His body went cold. No, no, no. “Gods. I’ll call for a doctor.”

“No, don’t—” Pepper cried out, her body convulsing. Tony pulled her into his arms and held on as she shivered and shook. “Don’t leave,” she panted against his neck.

“I can’t help you,” Tony said with no little frustration. “If this was a train engine, I could fix it in two seconds flat, but babies? Those are outside my expertise. Please let me go get a doctor.”

Tears clung to Pepper’s eyelashes as she pulled away from him. That disturbed Tony almost more than anything else—the last and only time he’d ever seen Pepper cry had been during their disastrous fight six years ago. 

“Quickly,” she said. 

Tony lifted her into bed, concerned all over again by how easy it was to do so. Tony had never been particularly strong and Pepper was pregnant, but it had taken hardly any effort at all. He pulled the covers over her and took one second to smooth his hand over her forehead, brushing wisps of hair out of her eyes. She smiled weakly up at him.

"I'll be back as soon as I'm able," he swore.

He waited for her nod before he raced out of the house, running faster than he had since he was twelve years old.

It would take too long to return to the manor for a horse—the town, and the town’s doctor, was in the opposite direction. Tony ran his hand through his hair, considering. Baronet Fury’s mansion was on the way—if he stopped in to borrow a horse from him, that wouldn’t delay him too badly, and it would be faster than running the entire two miles. 

Decided, he nodded to himself and increased his pace, changing direction slightly. He deliberately forced himself to think only of the next step forward and not of Pepper, still in pain and waiting for him.

* * *

Shield Hall was much as Tony remembered it. The butler let him in and hurried into the main hall at Tony’s insistence that it was an emergency. Only seconds later, Baronet Fury descended down the staircase at an all out run, still in his night shirt. He stopped short when he saw Tony, a dark frown overtaking his face. 

“I was under the impression this was urgent,” he said.

“Luckily for you, that’s the right impression,” Tony said. “I need to borrow one of your horses.”

Baronet Fury crossed his arms over his chest. “For what reason?”

Tony almost screamed with frustration. He’d forgotten, in his haste, that he and Sir Fury had never quite gotten along. One little theft of his potatoes made a man bitter for life, it would seem. 

“Mrs. Killian is severely ill,” he snapped. “She needs a doctor and quickly. It's faster to ride than run and you’re on the way there.”

To his credit, Fury’s irritation dispersed immediately. “The child?” he asked.

Tony clenched his fists. “Yes. I’ll return it as soon as she’s settled.”

“Take my horse,” Fury said. “Goose is the fastest there is.”

At any other time, Tony might have made fun of a man like Fury—tall, wide-set, somewhat intimidating—naming his horse something as silly and innocuous as _Goose_ , but he didn’t have the moment or the inclination. He did, however, tuck the thought in the back of his mind as something to bring up when things were less dire.

* * *

Goose was a good-tempered horse and just as fast as promised. Tony made crossed the woods and went over the hill in little time, pulling up into town within ten minutes.

The little doctor’s clinic was still in the same place it had sat through all of Tony’s childhood. He’d never gone to visit Dr. Falcombe that often--despite his rough-and-tumble childhood, he’d been remarkably sturdy—but Tony remembered suffering through a fever when he was nine and the spritely elderly man who gave him pills and came to check on his condition for the months that followed. He only hoped the fellow could help Pepper now.

The little town on the edge of the forest had grown considerably since Tony’s childhood, turning from a sleepy two-horse village to a bustling area with several shops and storefronts. Luckily, it was still small enough that it was almost impossible to get turned around. The shops were all closed up now, the streets empty and quiet. The sun had fully risen, but it was still quite early. 

The doctor’s clinic had its sign set to open, to Tony’s relief. He swung down from his horse with a grimace and knocked on the door. He received a reply immediately.

The inside of the clinic was small but bright, clean and tidy and smelling of herbs. Tony paused in the threshold. 

“Hello?” he called.

A man came around the corner. He wasn’t Dr. Falcombe, who had been in his late eighties the last time Tony had seen him—no, this man was much younger and slimmer, dressed in a tidy if patchwork suit, with slicked back dark hair and tiny spectacles clinging to the tip of his nose. His eyebrows rose when he saw Tony.

“Lord Stark,” he said. Tony didn't bother to ask how he knew - even if he hadn't been around when Tony was a child, everyone had always told him how much he took after Howard. “What a surprise so early in the morning. What can I do for you?”

“Where’s Dr. Falcombe?”

“Retired, I’m afraid. He is having a very pleasant time in—”

“No time,” Tony said. The man’s eyebrows rose further. “Is there another doctor here now?”

“Yes,” the man said. “That would be me. Dr. Yinsen, at your service.”

“You already know who I am, so let’s leave off all that nonsense,” Tony said. “This is an emergency, doctor. Mrs. Killian has had some sort of accident and she's injured."

To his credit, Dr. Yinsen’s mouth firmed and he immediately reached for the heavy black bag that stood open near the door, collecting different vials and syringes and bandages without even needing to look at them. 

“What kind of accident?” Yinsen asked, never once pausing in his motions. “How long ago?”

“I’m not sure,” Tony said. “She was bleeding, but she couldn’t tell me what caused it. Half-hour ago—I came as soon as I found her by horse.”

Yinsen closed his bag with a snap. “We’ll have to travel back quickly,” he said. “Let me get my horse.”

* * *

Yinsen firmly told Tony he had no place hovering while Yinsen worked and shut the door in his face before Tony could even check on Pepper. Tony managed to distract himself with indignation for a full twenty minutes and then he spent another ten pacing. Thoroughly fed up with the anxious cycle of his own thoughts, he turned his attention to Pepper’s living room. It only took the work of two minutes to find a grandfather clock shoved in the corner, quiet and broken—Pepper had begun to dismantle it, but had yet to finish. Tony knew nothing about clocks, but how hard could it be? And, at the very least, it would keep his mind off of how bloody long Yinsen had been sequestered in that bedroom with Pepper. 

The gears were intricate and complicated inside, but not so much that Tony couldn’t get the hang of it rather quickly. The mechanism was bent, that was all, deep within the guts of the clock—it had prevented the gears from turning smoothly and stuck the hands. Tony straightened it out and replaced the gears he’d had to take out to find it, putting everything back in its proper place. It was only as he was fixing the last of the gears that he heard someone clear his throat from above him. 

He looked up. Yinsen stared down at him, eyebrows high on his forehead.

“I wasn’t aware earls knew how to fix clocks,” he said.

Oh, he was one of those. Tony had met more than one person at Cambridge who expected him to be useless because his father happened to be nobility. Tony supposed he couldn't really blame them; he'd met more than one member of the peerage who fit that stereotype.

Tony bared his teeth in a hard, bright smile. “Well, I do love to surprise,” he said in his airiest voice.

The eyebrows rose yet further. Tony wasn’t sure why Yinsen, who Tony was sure he’d never met before in his life, seemed to have some kind of low opinion of Tony, but it was beginning to annoy him. What on Earth had people been saying about here while he was away at school?

“Mrs. Killian is asking for you,” Yinsen said.

Tony scrambled to his feet, irritation set aside for now. “Is she all right? What happened?”

Yinsen paused. “I’m not at liberty to tell you that,” he said.

“Not at—?” Tony gaped at him. “Excuse me?”

“You’re her landlord, not her brother or her husband,” Yinsen said. “These matters can only be discussed with family. If she wants to tell you, she will.”

“Surely you can tell me if she’s recovered, though!”

Yinsen thought about it. “She has recovered,” he said at last.

Tony relaxed a little. “Thank God,” he said. “And the baby?”

“No longer in danger. But I must insist—if you want to know anything else, you must ask Mrs. Kilian herself.”

“Fine,” Tony said and marched past Yinsen for the bedroom.

The room was dim and cool; the curtain had been pulled, but the window was open and letting in a breeze. Pepper sat in the bed. The sheets must have been changed at some point while Yinsen was in with her, for there was no sign of any blood. Pepper was pale and tight-lipped, but she smiled when Tony came in.

“Dr. Yinsen said you had to ask Sir Fury for a horse into town,” she said. “Tell me true—did he make you cry?”

Tony sat down on the bed by her elbow, taking her hand in his. “Cry? Don’t be absurd, Stark men don’t do anything as plebian as _cry_. We suffer our humiliations in manly dignity."

Pepper snorted. “Was it manly dignity I saw on your face whenever I beat you at cricket? I could have sworn those were tears."

“You didn’t beat me,” Tony said, happy for the soothing rhythm of the old argument. “I let you win.”

“Nobody _lets_ people win that many times, Tony. I beat you into the ground.”

“I felt bad for you. You’d lost so many times already—”

“I’ve never once lost at cricket and you well know it, Tony Stark!”

They glared at each other until Pepper cracked and began to laugh. Tony laughed too, relieved that she wasn’t bleeding and crying anymore, happy that she seemed to be on the mend and the scare was over.

“I never thought I’d be grateful for your odd hours,” Pepper said. “I’m not sure what I would have done if you hadn’t come by to check on me so early.”

The thought of it made Tony’s relief disappear into icy panic. His grip on Pepper’s hand tightened. “You shouldn’t live alone anymore,” he said. “At least until the baby comes.”

“There’s no one to move in with, Tony,” she said. “My family’s all gone, and so is Aldritch’s.”

“There’s me and Rhodey,” Tony said.

Pepper gave him a look. “You know as well as I that even this,” she nodded to her huge belly, “wouldn’t stop the gossip if I moved in with one of you. Come on, Tony. Be reasonable.”

“Be reasonable? I just found you bleeding on the floor, Pepper!” She hunched. “What _happened_?”

“False contractions,” Pepper said. “It’s not uncommon, this late in the pregnancy. Dr. Yinsen said it’s unlikely to happen again so long as I don’t over-exert myself.”

Tony frowned at her. “If you live alone, you’re going to over-exert yourself,” he pointed out.

“Yes, thank you, I’m aware of that!”

“I’m just saying—”

“—know perfectly well—”

“—the only way to make sure—”

“—coddling, busybody nonsense—”

“Excuse me?”

“Go away!” 

Pepper and Tony exchanged surprised looks. They’d shouted that in unison at a startled Yinsen. Pepper immediately went sheepish, eyebrows drawing down.

“I’m so terribly sorry, Dr. Yinsen,” she said. “It’s only, Tony—excuse me, Lord Stark and I were having a… conversation—”

“Argument, call it an argument,” Tony muttered under his breath, willfully ignoring the glare Pepper turned on him.

“—and we just need another minute, if you wouldn’t mind?”

Pepper did an about-face as she looked back at Yinsen with her sweetest smile. Yinsen blinked at her. He had a good poker face; Tony couldn’t tell at all what he was thinking beneath that placid mask of his. He glanced Tony’s way once, then seemed to make up his mind.

“Very well,” he said. “I’ll be right outside, Mrs. Killian. We should check a few more things before I return to my clinic.”

“Of course, of course.”

When Yinsen had closed the door, Pepper whapped Tony on the arm. He yelped, giving her a betrayed look.

“What was _that_ for!”

“You aggravate me so much!” Pepper said. “Why must you always make me feel like I’m fourteen, Anthony Stark!”

Tony grinned at her. “Someone’s got to keep you from being a stick in the mud, Miss Potts.”

“I’ve been married five years now, Tony.”

“You think that matters? You’ll always be Miss Potts to me.”

Pepper grimaced. Tony flattened his smile immediately, contrite. It was so easy for them to fall back into old habits, he’d completely forgotten why Pepper might find it uncomfortable. 

“Sorry,” he said.

“Don’t be sorry,” Pepper said stiffly. She sighed and seemed to relax a little. “I would never want you to apologize for being yourself, Tony,” she continued. “I’m the one with the issue. I’ll get over it.”

Tony stared at her. “You aren’t still—”

She gave him a sharp look. “Aren’t you?” she asked.

Well. Tony deliberately didn’t think about the way he’d completely lost his head just yesterday. 

“You need someone to stay with you,” he said, proving how good he was with strategy by the slick change in conversation.

Pepper’s look told him it was far from over, but she allowed him to distract her. “I’ve told you, Tony, there’s no one. I’ll be fine. The baby’s due soon.”

“How soon?”

“Three weeks,” she said. “Dr. Yinsen said it can be difficult to tell, but any later would be cause for concern.”

Tony thought it over. The mere thought of leaving Pepper on her own, with no one around who really cared about her to check on her was enough to make anxiety spiral up and down his body, tightening his stomach and making his chest flutter. Jarvis could check in on her, of course, but with a new tenant, Jarvis was going to be uncommonly busy for the foreseeable future. He would hardly have the time to come by regularly to make sure Pepper hadn’t collapsed again.

Tony thought and thought. Pepper, bless her, let him with only the hint of a question in her face. But she was right—there was no one else with the time and no one else Tony trusted enough that he’d be able to leave without worry.

His chest tightened into a harsh knot. The Barnes couple arrived tomorrow, according to Mr. Coulson. There’d been no word yet on if they would have someone accompanying them, but if Bucky really was injured, surely Steve—no, _Captain Rogers_ wouldn’t be far behind. If he arrived before Pepper’s baby was due, they were bound to run into each other, perhaps even be forced to socialize. Could Tony stay, knowing that awaited him?

He looked at Pepper. She was so wan and thin. She had wrinkles at the corners of her eyes now. Tony’s heart contracted. She really did have no one except him and Rhodey. If he left, she’d be entirely on her own—not just for the last few weeks of pregnancy, but when the baby was born, too. He couldn’t do that to her. Not after breaking her heart six years ago, leaving her in a puddle of tears in the Stark Manor’s library like some heartless cad. He couldn’t do it—not even if it meant facing the cause of his own heartbreak for the first time in six years.

“I’ll stay,” he said. The words were difficult to force out of his throat. He cleared it. “I’ll stay,” he said, and they came more easily this time. “Until the baby’s born, at least, and maybe a few weeks after.”

Pepper’s eyes widened. “Tony—” she said.

“Don’t try to talk me out of it, you won’t be able to,” Tony said. Her mouth pursed, some combination of irritation and amusement. Tony’s specialty. “I have time before I have to ride to London to meet my father and time again until I have to convince him to let me go back to school. I can stay for a month or so, get you set up, and then be on my merry way.”

“You don’t want to stay,” Pepper said. “You hate this place now.”

Tony flinched. “I don’t hate it,” he said. “It’s not—I don’t—This is my _home_ , Pep. I couldn’t hate it.” He sighed. “I’m just tired of knocking over ant hills every time I turn around. Cambridge doesn’t have so many blasted ghosts.”

Pepper regarded him sternly. “You don’t have to do this,” she said. “I’ll be fine on my own. I’ll stay at home and work on embroidery for the child. You can tell Mr. Jarvis to call in on me, if you absolutely have to. Fury’s charges will probably be down to visit once they arrive. I’ll be _fine_ , Tony.”

He wagged a finger in her face. “’Didn’t I say you weren’t going to talk me out of it? I’m staying, Pepper. That’s final.”

She grabbed his finger and then his whole hand. For a long moment, she searched his face, squeezing his hand. Then, finally, she sighed and released him. 

“I have never in my life been able to get you stop something you’d set your mind on,” she said. “Where are you going to stay, then? The Manor?”

Tony winced. “The tenants move in tomorrow,” he said.

Pepper frowned. “Will you rent rooms?”

Tony could, but it would hardly be convenient to rent them in town when he was staying to keep an eye on Pepper. He almost suggested staying with her, but bit his tongue at the last minute. Tony had never cared much about propriety, but he was hardly stupid—even he knew that a single, wealthy man staying in a widow’s home would lead to all sorts of nasty rumors, no matter that Pepper was pregnant. 

No, he needed a place close by that wouldn’t cause any scandal should he deign to stay there. An idea occurred to him and Tony groaned quietly to himself. 

“Tony?”

“I think I know where I can stay,” he said grimly.

* * *

“So let me get this straight.” Sir Fury crossed his arms over his chest, eyebrows high on his forehead. Between his bulk and the black eyepatch he perpetually wore, he always looked intimidating. However, there was the tiniest twitch at the corner of his mouth undermined that a little at the moment. “You want to come stay with me at my manor, which you made a point to never step foot in despite living only three miles away for eighteen years?”

“I wouldn’t say a _point_ ,” Tony said. Fury gave him a look and he shrugged. “Well. Yes, that’s the gist of it. What do you say?”

“I say you must be out of your damn mind.”

“Now, now, there’s no need for such filthy language,” Tony said, adopting the prim, proper voice he’d heard one of his many governesses use. “In front of a peer of the realm, too! What would your wife think, Sir Fury?”

“She’s probably going to use worse when she sees your face again,” Fury said. “It was her petunias you boys pulled up, remember?”

Tony winced. He’d forgotten about that, actually.

“I’m sure we’ll all be able to forget any past… mistakes and get along just fine,” Tony said. “I can promise I’ll be an excellent house guest! I’ll speak quietly and cordially and put all my books back in the right place in the library and I’ll only steal a few pieces of silverware!”

“Stark!”

“Not even the family heirlooms!” Tony said and dodged a clap to the ear with a laugh. “Just some plain, regular old silverware will do it for me!”

“You are _not_ making a good case for yourself!” Fury snapped.

Tony kept his distance, wary of another box to the ears, and sighed. “Mrs. Killian seems to be having a troublesome pregnancy,” he said more seriously. “With Rhodey out in London, I’m the only one she’s got, God help her. I just need someplace to stay until she’s settled and then I’ll be on my way to London.”

“Don’t you _have_ a perfectly nice manor, not three miles away?”

“Don’t pretend you don’t know it’s being lent,” Tony snapped. “You’ve got your eyes and ears in every corner of this area, you probably knew before I did.”

Fury didn’t confirm or deny, but, then again, he never did. He was a secretive man who kept all of his cards very close to his chest. It had always annoyed Tony, even as a child. There was a reason so many of Tony’s childhood pranks had been pulled on the Furys. He’d never met a more infuriating person. 

“I did hear a rumor about that,” Fury said. “Heard another one that the new tenant is a local boy. Bucky Barnes?”

Tony smiled through the throb of pain. “That’s him,” he said. “Got himself married to a wealthy heiress, lucky sod.”

“Hm.”

“What’s that? I don’t like the sound of that!”

Fury turned away. Tony followed after him, starting to panic. If Fury said no, he’d have to inquire about renting rooms in town and he had no idea if they’d even have anything available. Not to mention the distance would make it that much harder to help Pepper.

“Fury—”

“Miss Hill,” Fury said to a severe woman with dark hair standing just outside of the parlor. “Go and tell Simmons we have a new house guest and the housemaids that they should prepare the Blue Room. Lord Stark will be staying with us for a few weeks.”

Tony sagged. “You really know how to string a fellow along,” he said.

Fury spared him a keen side-glance that almost seemed amused. “It is a talent,” he said.

“So that’s it, then,” Tony said. “I can stay?”

“That’s it,” Fury agreed. “Welcome to Shield Hall, Lord Stark.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it was fun writing fury as a baronet - i have to giggle at the thought of shoving all of that intimidation into a frilly overcoat. he'd rock it, tho.
> 
> next chapter may or may not have steve. this is persuasion - it's all about that build-up, yeah?


End file.
